


No Memories (But These. . .)

by Lichinamo



Series: Unconnected SAF Stories [11]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I have decided I want to cause pain, M/M, Mild Angst, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lichinamo/pseuds/Lichinamo
Summary: Curt apparently had two things: amnesia and a husband.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Unconnected SAF Stories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888417
Comments: 37
Kudos: 78





	1. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))
> 
> I’d say I am sorry but I am not

The first thing Curt was aware of was the beeping.

He groaned and rolled his head to the side, mentally checking himself over. His head hurt so badly it felt like it had been split open, his ribs were wrapped tighter than a Christmas present, he was laying in a slightly inclined position, and there were a few tubes shoved uncomfortably up his nose and into his skin.

Yeah, he was in the hospital.

What had he done to land himself there? Last thing he remembered, he was. . . Actually, what _was_ the last thing he remembered.

A hand squeezed his gently, and a worried, unfamiliar voice spoke. “Curt? Curt, my love, are you awake?” Curt noticed the voice was British.

Curt slowly opened his eyes and looked blearily at the man holding his hand. He was handsome- probably the most handsome man Curt had ever seen- but his hair and clothes were disheveled and there were bags under his eyes.

The handsome stranger relaxed, still gripping Curt’s hand. “Oh, Curt, don’t- don’t do that to me ever again- I was so _worried-_ ”

“Who are you?” Curt’s voice croaked with disuse.

The stranger frowned. “Curt- please don’t play this game with me,” He said slowly. “It’s not funny.” His other hand hovered towards a button.

“How do you know my name?” Curt began looking around the room, trying to find anything that had his name on it to explain it away.

The stranger paled and pressed the button. “I-I’ll be right back.” He let go of Curt’s hand and sprinted out of the room, leaving Curt to wonder what the Hell had just happened.


	2. Mister Carvour-Mega

Apparently, Curt had amnesia.

The doctor said he should be fine- no permanent brain damage, the memories should come back on their own, though it could take anywhere from a few weeks to almost a year.

That wasn’t the surprising part. Curt always just kinda assumed he was going to do something stupid and get badly injured. The surprising part was the man the doctor called “Mister Carvour-Mega”.

Curt’s _husband._

Curt never thought he’d get married. For one, he never thought they’d legalize it- that was something he’d apparently forgotten. He also just. . . Never pictured himself as the type to settle down.

So to have hard, living proof that he had found love? Curt felt like he was being punk’d.

His husband- Owen, apparently- was sitting by his side and fretting over him. “The doctor said you can come home in a day or so, love.” He brushed back Curt’s hair.

Curt tried not to flinch away from the contact. He felt like he was at a disadvantage; he didn’t have any memory of the man, and he was injured on top of it.

Owen frowned at him in worry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Curt said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m just sore.” It wasn’t a lie- his ribs ached.

“Do you want any medication, love?” Owen slipped his hand into Curt’s again.

Curt shook his head, glancing down at their linked hands. “You really don’t have to stay with me, you know.”

Owen spoke softly. “Curt. . .” He sighed. “I know you don’t remember me, but you’re my husband. I love you.” He brought Curt’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I’m going to be here with you every step of the way.”

Curt tried not to blush, but voiced a fear that had been niggling at the back of his mind. “What if I don’t get my memories back?”

Owen smiled wistfully at him. “I made you fall in love with me once. I’ll do it all over again if I have to.”


	3. Homecoming

“Do you need any help, love?”

Curt shook his head, shakily stepping out of the car. “I’m fine.” He was staring up at the house that they’d just pulled up at- _their_ house.

It was a cute little two story building, painted a lovely shade of yellow with a white roof and white shudders. The lawn was small but well cared for, and they had a red mailbox.

Curt felt a hand at his elbow gently leading him inside and offering him support he hadn’t realized he needed. “We moved in a few months before the wedding,” Owen said softly as he unlocked the door.

They entered, and Curt looked around. It had a small entryway with a mat for people to wipe their feet on, and the stairs to the second floor were just a few steps away. The living room was on the left, and Curt could see the kitchen at the other end of the house.

Owen brought Curt into the living room, and Curt craned his neck to look around. The walls were painted all different colors- the living room was a nice dark blue, contrasted to the kitchen’s coral shade of pink.

Owen helped him lay down on a nice couch. It was soft, cushiony. “When we first moved in, the house was all white. You said it was boring and insisted we painted every room something fun.”

Curt smiled slightly. “That sounds like me.”

Owen smiled back. “Let me fetch you a blanket, love.” He walked away, heading off to who knows where to get the aforementioned item.

Curt resumed looking around the room. Other than the couch, there was a glass coffee table right beside it and a set of matching armchairs sitting next to each other by a window facing the front yard. There was a large white fireplace, and hanging right above the mantle was. . .

A giant portrait of him and Owen on their wedding day.

Curt was captivated by it; Owen was in a black tuxedo, and Curt was in a white one. They had their arms wrapped around each other- Owen’s around Curt’s waist, Curt’s hands resting on Owen’s hips- and they were looking at each other adoringly, faces so close their noses were brushing.

“Curt, love? What are you doing?”

Owen’s concerned voice snapped him out of his haze, and he realized he’d not only gotten up, but made his way over to the portrait, finger ghosting over it.

“I. . .” Curt dropped his hand. “I don’t know.”


	4. Breakfast

Curt stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, guilt gnawing at his chest. Owen had let him sleep in their bed, taking the one in the spare room instead. Curt felt guilty about essentially kicking the other man out of his room, but Owen assured him that he just wanted Curt to be comfortable.

Curt didn’t know how to feel about the Brit. He didn’t know the man, but. . . Something deep inside him stirred whenever he looked at Owen. Was it love? Did he still, somehow, subconsciously love Owen?

He couldn’t give Owen what he wanted. Curt hardly knew himself right now- he would be a terrible husband.

The door creaked open, and Curt looked up to find Owen hovering in the doorway. “Curt?” He asked, speaking quietly. “I wanted to know what you want for breakfast.”

Curt pushed himself up with his palms, wincing. “Oh, you don’t-”

Owen fixed him with a look. “Curt, if you don’t tell me what you want, you’re getting oatmeal.”

Curt reacted the way one should react when threatened with oatmeal- that being disgust- causing Owen to laugh. “Uh, is ‘surprise me with anything that isn’t oatmeal’ a good answer?”

“I can work with that,” Owen said with a wink, leaving and shutting the door most of the way.

Curt shifted around in the bed, adjusting the pillows so he could sit in a more comfortable position. The bedroom was nice- painted mint green, another casualty of his insistence on fun colors apparently- and had a king sized bed, en suite bathroom, and walk in closet. Clearly, most of the focus of the architectural design of the home had gone into this room.

Curt didn’t know how long it was until Owen came back, but eventually his husband came in with a tray loaded with. . . Chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup, bacon, French toast. . . Basically all of Curt’s favorite breakfast foods.

Owen carried the tray over to Curt and placed it delicately on his lap, the legs of the tray keeping it upright more than Curt was. “Don’t give me that look, you,” Owen said, rolling his eyes- though Curt clocked some affection in the action. “Of course I know your favorite breakfast foods. Don’t go thinking all of this is for you, though. I haven’t eaten yet either.”

Owen climbed into the bed on the other side of him, plucking a piece of French toast and biting it.

Curt just marveled at the food for another moment before moving to eat, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

Owen frowned at him. “Curt, love, do you need help?”

Curt had to suppress an embarrassed blush. “I can do it.”

“I know you can.” Owen reached over and stroked Curt’s cheek gently. “But you’ll get better faster if you don’t strain yourself.”

Curt’s cheeks burned, and he conceded the point. “Well. . . If you say so.”

Owen began with cutting up the pancakes, pouring the maple syrup into a small puddle and dipping the bite sized pieces into it before feeding it to Curt. “I remember the first time you fed me,” He said softly, a wistful look in his eyes.

Curt raised an eyebrow to show interest, not really being able to speak when there was food in his mouth.

Owen continued feeding him as if this was an intimate thing they did regularly- perhaps it was. “You took me to a winter resort and decided you wanted to do something romantic. I’m fairly certain we stained their bedsheets with chocolate syrup.”

Curt swallowed. “What were you eating that we got chocolate syrup on the bed?”

Owen smirked. “I never said the chocolate syrup was from the food.”

Curt started choking, and Owen patted his back gently, laughing.


	5. Ghosts

Curt felt like a ghost.

This had to be how ghosts felt; all these pictures of himself hanging around the house casually, doing things Curt had no recollection of doing. . . Curt imagined this is what it was like to look at your own body from above.

Owen really was trying his best to make Curt comfortable, and he appreciated it. The problem was that Curt didn’t know if he wanted to be made comfortable, or if he wanted to be pushed towards getting better.

Curt sighed, sitting at the kitchen table and tracing his finger along the wood. He never expected that losing his memories would make him feel so. . . Empty.

Curt was startled by a hand touching his back. “Hey there, Grumpy,” Owen said, leaning down to address him. “Have anything you’d like to share with the class?”

Curt shook his head mutely, and Owen sighed before sitting in the chair beside him. “Curt, please look at me.”

Curt looked over at Owen, who was giving him that soft sort of expression he seemed to always wear. “I can help you, Curt, if you’ll just let me.”

Curt’s shoulders slumped. “I. . . I don’t know what I need right now.”

Owen reached out his hand, as if he wanted to touch Curt, hold him, but pulled it away so he wouldn’t make him uncomfortable. “I understand,” He said quietly. “This is a tough thing to go through, love. I can’t imagine. . .”

Curt closed his eyes. “Please, don’t. I don’t need- I don’t want your sympathy.”

There was a sadness in Owen’s eyes that the other man couldn’t mask. Curt tried to ignore it. “I understand, love. Please, just remember I’m here for you.”

“I will,” Curt whispered, having no intention of going to his husband for help.


	6. Take My Whole Life Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lays face down like Lauren Lopez* pleas comment I crave validation

_Strong arms were around his waist, and he had a firm grip on a set of hips as they swayed happily to the music- Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love”._

_They were so close their noses were nuzzled into each others’ cheeks._

_“I can’t believe you picked such a cliché song for our first dance, love,” A voice murmured into his ear, and Curt opened his eyes to see Owen. His new husband._

_Curt smiled at him cheekily. “I figured we deserve to be cliché every once in a while.”_

_Owen was looking at him adoringly, and it made him tingle inside. He moved so his lips were aligned with Curt’s ear and murmured, “I am going to absolutely ravish you tonight.”_

_Curt laughed happily as Owen simultaneously nuzzled him and pinched his ass. “Owen!”_

_Owen chuckled against his skin, and Curt closed his eyes again, relishing the moment. . ._

Curt woke in a cold sweat. The dream he had felt so real.

Was it. . . Was it a memory?

Curt quietly got out of bed and started making his way to the spare bedroom. Owen had told him where it was in case he needed anything.

Curt paused when he heard strange sounds coming from inside the room. It sounded like. . . Crying?

Was Owen crying?

Curt flushed in embarrassment when he realized yes, of course Owen was crying. He’d been so caught up on how hard this was for him, he hadn’t even considered what Owen might be going through.

His hand hovered over the doorknob. Would it be inappropriate for him to go in? Would he be barging in, or would his comfort- however pitiful it may be- be appreciated?

Ultimately, Curt ended up sinking to the ground and leaning against the door. It wasn’t much, but he was sort of being there for the man. It was all he could do.


	7. When I First Met You

Curt was awoken by the door moving.

He fell backwards, body hitting Owen’s legs.

Owen looked down at him in surprise. “Curt? What are you doing here?”

Curt looked up at him sheepishly. “I. . . I couldn’t sleep,” He said lamely.

Owen offered him a hand and helped him up. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Curt didn’t want to admit that he almost had, that he’d heard Owen crying and just couldn’t disturb the man.

“Curt. . .” Owen touched his face gently. “You could never bother me.”

Curt closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Can you tell me about how we met?”

Curt could hear the smile in his voice. “I’d love nothing more.”

Curt ended up sitting at the kitchen island- they had one of those, made of marble with three cushioned stools for people to sit on- while Owen fixed breakfast.

“It was 2014. I was doing a book tour to promote my second novel- I’m an author,” Owen clarified as he scrambled the eggs. “Stopped off at a Starbucks in Austin before my next signing. When I was going to pay I realized my wallet was missing, and before I could say anything you’d shoved your credit card at the cashier and said-”

“Anyone that handsome shouldn’t have to pay for their own coffee,” Curt supplied, startling himself. He didn’t remember the memory Owen was describing, but something deep inside him must have.

Owen smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Exactly that, love. For a moment I thought you were a fan, but you didn’t have a clue who I was.” He served the eggs on to two plates, passing one to Curt and handing him a fork. “I gave you my number and. . . Well, the rest is history.”

Curt stabbed the eggs with his fork. “That is. . . _sickeningly_ sweet. Are you sure you didn’t just describe the beginning of a rom-com to me?”

Owen laughed. “Sorry, my love, but that’s how it happened.”

“Disgusting,” Curt said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth, and Owen kept laughing.


	8. Your Hands On Me

Curt couldn’t sleep.

He didn’t know why he was struggling so much with sleeping, he just _was._

Curt sighed, getting up and going to grab Owen. Maybe the Brit could help.

Curt had barely knocked on the door when it swung open, and a concerned looking Owen was frowning at him. “Curt? Is something wrong?”

Curt bit his lip. “I. . . I can’t sleep.”

Owen nodded. “I know what you need. Come on.” He took Curt’s hand and practically dragged him back to the master bedroom. “Okay, sit down on the bed and take off your shirt.”

Curt flushed but did as his husband commanded, crawling into his spot on the bed and sitting. A pointed look had him stripping his shirt off.

Owen climbed behind him, and before Curt could ask what he was doing, he was giving Curt a back rub. His fingers worked expertly against Curt’s skin, making the tension in his muscles melt away.

Curt went slack against Owen’s hands. “How-?”

“I’ve been with you long enough to know that sometimes all you need is a nice back rub to put you to sleep.”

Curt closed his eyes, just enjoying the contact. Something about this felt so familiar, so intimate.

“Tell me if I hurt you, love.” Owen’s voice was soft, gentle, and Curt just nodded, too relaxed and content to respond verbally.

Owen chuckled. “I love spoiling you like this. My big strong man.”

Curt felt himself drifting off, but he let it happen. Didn’t he go to Owen for help falling asleep, anyway? His eyelids fluttered shut. . .

Curt felt himself being gently maneuvered so he was laying down. A soft kiss was pressed to his forehead, and he whined when he felt the warm hands pulling away from him.

Curt managed to whimper pathetically, “ _Stay._ ”

There was a pause. “You want me to stay, love?”

Curt nodded, and the figure climbed into bed next to him. Strong arms wrapped around him, and Curt tucked his head under their chin.

The last thing Curt was aware of was the feeling of happy vibrations against his cheek.


	9. Together

Curt was becoming used to waking up in unfamiliar situations.

His eyes weren’t even open yet, and he could feel Owen wrapped around him like tinsel on a Christmas tree. The Brit was practically a koala, legs hooked around Curt’s waist and arms wrapped around his torso.

Curt blinked his eyes open and found his face was nuzzled into Owen’s chest, an arm and a leg each slung over his body.

Curt let his eyes gaze up to Owen’s sleeping face. He looked more relaxed than Curt could recall seeing him.

Curt slowly raised a hand, trying not to disturb him, and used his forefinger to trace Owen’s cheekbone down to his jaw.

Owen’s face scrunched, and he peered at Curt. “Hey stranger.”

Curt’s mouth felt dry. “Hi.”

“Sleep okay?” Owen asked, untangling himself and stretching.

Curt nodded. “Yeah. Better than I have in . . . a while, actually.”

Owen stroked his hair back gently. “I’m glad.”

Curt looked down, embarrassed. “Can. . . Can we do this every night?”

“Curt. . .” Owen put his fingers beneath Curt’s chin and tilted his head up so he had to look at Owen. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know,” Curt said quietly, belatedly realizing his leg was still slung over Owen and removing it. “I want this.”

Owen wrapped his arms back around Curt and buried his face into his hair, and Curt pretended he couldn’t feel Owen’s tears beginning to dampen his hair and scalp.


	10. Cynthia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THIS IS THE LAST TIME OWEN CRIES
> 
> also sorry Cynthia xoxo ily

One thing Curt had started doing to try and connect with his husband and his own memories was reading Owen’s books.

He’d sit in the armchair that was designated as his- Curt actually went right to it, and Owen had smiled, and Curt knew he’d done something right- and he’d put his feet up on an ottoman and just pour over the words. It was relaxing.

There was a knock on the door, and Curt tucked his bookmark into the page before getting up and answering. He didn’t want to disturb Owen, who was typing away in his study for the first time since they’d come home from the hospital.

A short, dark haired woman was at their doorstep, looking somehow both bored and angry. “Mega, it’s nice of you to finally show your fucking face again.”

Curt blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The woman shoved past him into his home. “Don’t play that game with me, Mega, it’s not going to work. We need you back at the warehouse ASAP. Your husband can’t keep making up excuses for you forever, you know.”

Curt assumed that this woman must be his boss. That must be why he was afraid of her, then. “Uh. . .”

Luckily, Owen swooped in to save the day, apparently having been summoned from his study by the sound of Cynthia’s voice- or Curt’s distress, either one. “Cynthia,” Owen said, somewhat coldly. “I thought I told you that Curt isn’t in any shape to return to work just yet.”

“He can stand, can’t he?” Cynthia said, very blasé.

Owen looked to be raging, and Curt took a step back from the two unconsciously. “He got hurt working for _you!_ If you’d told him to just let the man go he’d. . . He’d. . .” He was clenching his fist, angry tears welling up in his eyes.

Something in Curt ached. He wanted to just wrap Owen up in his arms, to hold him close and never let him go, but he didn’t know if Owen would accept the comfort or not.

Cynthia looked almost shaken, like she hadn’t been expecting such a reaction out of Owen.

Owen managed to say through clenched teeth, “He’ll go back when he’ll go back. Now _get out._ ” With that, Owen turned on his heel and stormed out.

Curt looked over at Cynthia. “Uh. . . We’re kinda going through a lot right now. But if you could just. . . Leave, that would be great.”

Cynthia seemed to come out of a trance, and she nodded, leaving without a word.

Curt hovered awkwardly in the kitchen, not knowing if he should go comfort Owen or not. Ultimately, he decided to go looking for the man and found him curled up in their bed and sobbing.

Curt sat next to him, putting a gentle hand on his back. He didn’t say anything, but Owen’s sobs calmed down to regular tears and eventually stopped altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have any tropes you’d like to see me tackle in a fic??? Let me know!!! I’m always open to ideas!!!


	11. Make It Better

Curt was trying to do something nice for Owen.

He felt like all he did was take and take and take from the man. Well, that and exist as a constant reminder that the Curt he loved was gone for the foreseeable future.

Which was why he was here, valiantly trying to make something edible.

Curt could not cook. It was one of his many, _many_ flaws. He could bake like no one’s business, but actual cooking? No thank you.

But Owen hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was getting closer and closer to five o’clock, so Curt was doing his best to make him dinner.

Curt had decided on making a steak pie, which is something Google had told him was a traditional English meal, and figured there was no possible way he could screw it up.

Then he sliced open his thumb.

“ _Fuck!_ ” He shouted, tears welling into his eyes as he tried to avoid looking at it. Oh god, he was bleeding, and he ruined dinner, and he was _bleeding-_

Footsteps were rushing into the room, but Curt didn’t look up even as Owen’s concerned voice rang out. “Curt?!”

“Over here,” Curt said through clenched teeth, eyes slammed shut.

He was being shuffled over to the kitchen table and sat down in a chair. “Sit tight, love, I’ll be right back.”

Curt nodded, still crying slightly, and soon Owen returned. “What _happened,_ Curt?”

Curt could feel Owen cleaning the wound, could feel the antiseptic stinging it as a cotton swab dabbed at the cut. “I was-” He took a deep breath to try and calm down, before continuing, “I was trying to make you dinner.” He managed to open his eyes to look at Owen.

Owen looked worried as he was bandaging up Curt’s thumb, but his expression softened. “Oh, Curt, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“I know.” The _but I want to_ was implied.

Owen finished bandaging him up. “What were you even trying to make?”

“A steak pie. I found it online.”

Owen smiled slightly despite the situation. “I know you don’t remember, but that’s my favorite.” He patted Curt’s thigh affectionately. “It doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, so that’s good.”

Owen then took Curt’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the wounded thumb. 

Curt could tell it was an action done completely out of habit, so before Owen could apologize, Curt just said softly, “Kisses to make it better?”

Owen’s smile grew. “Kisses to make it better. Now come on, I’ll clean up and you place an order for delivery. I’m in the mood for pizza right now.”


	12. Pulled Out A Ring And Said. . .

Curt’s feelings for Owen grew. 

Of course they did- it was impossible not to fall for him. He was just about the kindest man Curt had ever met.

That, and he answered all of Curt’s stupid questions about their relationship without judgement.

“Where was our first date?”

“You took me to a local little restaurant called Netting’s, dear.”

“When did we get married?”

“June 21st, 2017, love.”

“Who proposed?”

“Oh, this is a fun story. Hold on.” Owen rose from the bed, heading over to the bookshelf and grabbing a book. “I got an advance copy of my third novel. You were _begging_ me to let you read it, but I insisted you look at the dedication first.”

Curt took the book from Owen, feeling something stir inside him as he held it and flipped open to the dedication.

_For Curt, who I’ll love till my dying days._

Curt looked up to find Owen on one knee. “I took your hand in mine, like so. . .” He gently took Curt’s left hand and held it as if it were worth the world. “And I told you that you’d made me happier than I could’ve ever imagined, and I never wanted it to end. And do you know what you said to me?”

Curt managed to smile through his blush. “Did I yell at you for beating me to the punch?”

Owen chuckled and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You started crying about how you had this whole plan to take me to an amusement park and propose on top of the Ferris wheel, and how dare I do the most romantic thing you could ever imagine before you had the chance.”

Laughter bubbled from Curt’s chest. “Did I say yes?”

“You said yes, with the caveat that you still got to propose to me. It was adorable.” Owen ran his thumb over Curt’s hand, looking at him adoringly.

Curt really still might love this man, even if he doesn’t remember. The thought should be terrifying, but it wasn’t; it was warm, like laying under a blanket fresh from the dryer.


	13. Finale

Curt was curled up under a quilt, snuggled into Owen’s side. His head rested on Owen’s chest as he ran circles with his hand on Owen’s left pec. Owen’s cheek was pressed against the top of Curt’s head, one arm wrapped around his shoulder and hand resting on his waist.

Staring at the fire crackling away in the fireplace, Curt couldn’t ignore the question that had been niggling at the back of his mind anymore. “Owen? Can I ask you something?”

“What is it, love?” Owen sounded half asleep.

“Will you still love me even if I never get my memories back?”

“Curt. . .” Owen pulled Curt so he was practically sitting in the Brit’s lap. “I swore to love you in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. I won’t go back on it.”

Curt closed his eyes and breathed his husband in. “I think I loved you even when I didn’t know who you were.”

Owen pressed a kiss to his temple. “How romantic.”

“Kiss me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Owen’s warm lips were pressing against his, and Curt knew in that moment that nothing in the world mattered more than Owen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all, folks! I’ve deliberately left it open to interpretation on whether or not Curt gets his memories back, because that’s not what matters. What matters is that they still love each other and always will.


End file.
